Kill All Your Friends
by sodacreamorange
Summary: After the death of her father, an old friend reappears, and with him a past neither of them can ignore. Modern-ish AU
1. One

Christine rounded the dinner table placing folded napkins atop of plates as she set silverware off to the side. The turkey roast had just finished in the oven, and her husband was standing in the kitchen preparing the carving knife.

The setting quite reminded her of the little illustrations in the magazines her mother used to purchase during the holidays, and she smiled knowing her mother would be proud of her work.

She was admiring the baking dish filled with homemade mash potatoes when her three children came running into the dining room, shaking the room and all its contents. Circling the table, her youngest shrieked as she was tagged it, and turned around frantically to take revenge on her elder brothers.

"Hey!" Christine yelled, wide-eyed as her gaze flickered between the kids and the pointed china cabinet filled with priceless dishware. "Stop running, someone's going to get hurt!"

Her youngest was just an arm's length from her eldest when the tuning notes of a violin drifted from upstairs, and they all seized their antics, turning towards the archway closest to the staircase. The children all hurried out of the dining room to the end of the staircase, and she followed along, listening to the familiar opening notes of Vivaldi's "L'auttuno."

She watched as her father flowed steadily down the steps, his eyes locked on where his feet were stepping as his mind remained on the violin tucked beneath his chin. She smiled when he reached the final step, and all her children gathered around him, watching in awe as he played like he'd written the song himself.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil," the pastor's words sliced clean through her daydream, his voice catching at a particular instance that brought her attention back to the world around her, "for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

She swallowed, her throat hard and dry as a rock. It was quite funny—well, perhaps not that funny—how easily she could forget where she was this past couple of days.

She stood before the casket alone, a few faces offering a solemn smile of assurance and either a hug or a weak shake of her hand. Some faces she recognized—people her father had worked with during his travels, a few family members she'd not seen in a long time, and lastly Mama.

The old lady approached her, limping slightly due to a bad hip. "My dear," she said, taking both of Christine's hands between her own, "you look beautiful today."

Christine's lips curled into something that she hoped resembled a genuine smile. "Thank you."

Mama shook her head and gave a small squeeze to Christine's hands. "Are you sure you're going to be okay spending the night alone? I can always get one of my neighbors to look after Mr. Valerius, you know."

Christine shook her head and squeezed back. "I'm sure, Mama. Thank you, but I will be fine." Mama's eyes began to roll, and her mouth opened to insist further on her proposal, but Christine cut her off, "I have already spent the past four nights on my own, another few aren't going to hurt me. Besides," she added, "Meg promised she'd be here by Friday, and then we'd have a whole girls weekend together." She tossed in another smile, hoping it was convincing enough.

Despite Mama's raised brow, she shook Christine's hands in a gesture of trust and sighed. "Alright then, my dear. Just... don't hesitate to call if you need something, or if you run out of my ham and baked mac-n-cheese."

Christine laughed as they released hands. "I promise I won't."

Mama offered her one last unsteady smile—one Christine could tally with all the others—and turned to head back towards her car.

Everyone was gone now all except for the funeral directors who were patiently waiting to the side. It is part of their job, she thought solemnly, to wait. Even if it meant they had to bury her as well.

Christine turned towards her father's closed casket, and then towards the funeral spray at the head of it. She recalled how her father would purchase a rose for every day that her mother was not feeling well and how her mother had laughed when there were soon three vases filled with roses in her hospital room.

"At this point, you might as well plant me a garden," she joked, her voice weak.

He understood she was joking by the small, playful twinkle of her eyes, but she had sparked something inside of him, and soon enough their entire flowerbed was filled to the brim with roses. He had stained his favorite button-down with dirt from the garden, not thinking to change his clothes after he'd returned from buying out just about every home improvement store with a gardening center in town. It didn't seem to upset him one bit, Christine recalled, as she'd never seen him smile so much since her mother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

She plucked a single rose from the funeral spray, selecting the brightest one, and rolled it between finger and thumb as tears pricked her eyes. Absently, she opened the casket and tried her best to smile at the man before her. Lifting the hands that had once played and loved and gave, she slid the stem of the rose beneath them and set them back onto his stomach. Slowly, shakily, she smoothed back his hair and placed a kiss upon his forehead as she would every night before she trotted off to bed. She couldn't help but sob now as his hand did not reach up to caress her one cheek while he gingerly kissed the other. No longer would she be able to say good-night and receive a good-night back.

"Christine?"

Her entire body froze, and she remained leaning over the casket for a moment until she finally gathered the courage to straighten herself and turn to the man behind her.

Soft, worried eyes greeted her behind a black ski mask. A man she'd not seen in almost nine years now stood before her, dressed in a suit obviously too large for his frame.

She wasn't sure how to react. All the questions of whether she was seeing a ghost or perhaps a figment of her imagination—that she'd possibly already gone insane—all disappeared as she stepped forward and pressed herself into him, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as possible as if to check that he was real.

"Erik."

* * *

They sat at a booth of the old diner her and her high school friends used to frequent, a newspaper clipping of her father's obituary laying on the table between them.

Christine shook her head and exhaled something of a half-laugh. "I still cannot believe they misspelled his name."

"I'm sure it happens all the time," Erik replied, lifting the clipping to glance at it one last time before he slipped it back into his coat pocket. His lips quirked at the sight of it: _Gus Daae_. "At least they managed to spell the last name correctly. Otherwise, I don't think I would've given it a second look."

"So what," Christine said, narrowing her eyes at him, "you just happened to be driving through town and decided to pick up the paper to see what was going on?"

He chuckled slightly as he raised his coffee mug to his lips, sipping on the scolding-hot beverage. "It may be a surprise to you, but I'm actually a subscribed member to the newspaper. There's this whole process to having a newspaper mailed to you when you don't live within the town or city."

Christine remained peering at him in a skeptic manner, her lips pursed. "You know, you never quite gave me a heads-up before you moved."

Erik leaned back in his seat, eyes rolling in the direction of the window beside them. "Yeah, well that's a long story..."

"I've got all night," Christine said, leaning over the table towards him with a mischievous smirk, her head perched on her fists.

He grinned back and fixed his coffee between each of his hands, sighing deeply. "My mother and father were never quite on good terms. They always seemed to be looking for something to argue about: putting the meat in the cheese drawer, leaving the laundry sitting out instead of hanging it up, forgetting to buy more paper towels."

Christine sniggered lightly at his remarkably absurd list.

"The morning I returned from prom, my mother had just snapped," he said shrugging indifferently. "I came home and she already had all of my things packed up; she was ready to leave."

"She didn't give you the option of either leaving with her or staying with your dad?"

"My mother was rather dependent on me at the time. I believe in her mind I was a reason to carry on living." His fingers tapped mindlessly at his mug, his eyes glued to the deep black liquid within it.

"And so that was it?" Christine asked slowly. "You couldn't come and visit?"

"There was no way my mother was ever going to allow me to drive back here. Not while I was living under her roof."

Christine nodded and settled back into her seat, trying to think of the best route to changing the subject. "So what have you been doing this past couple years?"

He sighed and his eyes finally found hers once more. "Not much, if I'm honest. Still working in the theatre business."

Christine laughed lightly. "Seems like you haven't changed much."

Erik shrugged as their waitress approached the table with Christine's Belgian waffle and a syrup dispenser, slipping the plate before her. Before she could ask whether they needed anything else, Christine requested some strawberries to top off her waffle. The waitress nodded and spun back in the direction of the kitchen, offering Erik a quick glance with a bonus smile that read of nothing more than being friendly in hopes of a decent tip, although he had already decided against meeting her gaze.

Erik raised his eyes from a blank spot of the table they'd been fixed on to Christine and grinned. "Seems like you have not changed much either."

Christine rolled her eyes and smiled as she spread a pad of butter over the grooves of her waffle. "So are you staying in town or do you plan on heading back before the night is over?"

Erik tapped his fingers thoughtfully as if in debate. "I was thinking of finding a motel to stay in for the night, but it seems like the old Motel 6 had trouble staying in business."

"Why don't you stay with me?"

Christine felt it was only proper to offer up her bed for the night, considering he had traveled just to attend her father's funeral. The look in his eyes, however, made her feel suddenly foolish for having suggested it.

"I mean," she began correcting herself, "if you'd like. You don't have to." She ducked her head and began slicing her waffle into quarters.

Erik cleared his throat slowly, almost painfully. "I don't want you to feel obligated to host me."

Christine shook her head. "You are no burden, Erik." Her eyes caught his behind his coffee mug as he drew another sip from it. "Besides," she added, smiling cautiously, "I think we've both got a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

**One - Harry Nilsson**


	2. Endless Love

**September 1985**

* * *

Whenever Erik wasn't in class, he was in the theatre workshop. The first years of his schooling had been an absolute mess of consistent harassment from his classmates, many who threatened to rip off his mask. He became a distraction almost instantly upon walking in the classroom, so it was no surprise when the administrative staff at his schools agreed to letting him gather his work from his teachers and head off to someplace where he wouldn't be a bother. The workshop was a perfect place for that and more.

Keeping his mind off of things was Erik's number one priority, and doing so meant occupying himself with even the most mundane tasks: sweeping the floor, organizing paint brushes, labeling containers. Whatever he could find, he would do.

Usually, he picked out small tasks for himself, but as it seemed Mr. Poligny's classes were improving at their cleanup ethic, there wasn't much work left for him. Except for the horrendous pile of two-by-fours in the workshop's corner.

No one ever properly put the wood away. The "wood corner" of the workshop was a constant wreck: facing stacked randomly on the racks, jacks scattered about, planks tossed into a pile like firewood. Erik often had to turn his back to it, not wanting it to be his responsibility because, frankly, it wasn't. But he couldn't take it anymore. Four years of high school and this pile had grown into a nightmare.

Once he had several piles going in the center of the workshop—all separated by size—the task suddenly seemed like less of a nightmare. Measure, toss, measure another; it was just another job.

He was halfway through when the door creaked open, and he allowed one more two-by-four to join its family on the floor before he looked up to regard whoever was peeking in, thinking maybe it was a teacher wondering what all the racket was. Instead, he found a girl.

Her expression was no surprise; he had become numb to that silent gape which had once disturbed him, or at least he tried to convince himself that he had.

"I-I'm sorry," she apologized meekly.

Perhaps it was just the fact that she didn't immediately back away after meeting his gaze, but he couldn't stop that deep bunching of nerves within him when she spoke.

"I was looking for the theatre teacher. Do you know where he is?"

It took Erik a moment to realize she had asked him a question, too caught up in the fact that she was still standing there, and panic swiftly stole the position of the nerves. "Have you checked the theatre?"

His eyes shot wide as soon as he realized exactly what he had said, and her lips quirked as if to repress a laugh. Oh, this wasn't going well. This wasn't going well at all.

"I've been looking, but he doesn't seem to be around."

Erik's mind ran with a few possibilities as to where Mr. Poligny might have been. For once in his life, he could help another student, and he couldn't let her down.

"Would you like some help?" Her voice broke him from his trance, and his eyes shot back to hers. She nodded in the direction of the wood stacked against the wall. "I could help, if you'd-"

"No thanks." Nerves tangled every way in his gut once again, and he tightened his jaw to reduce his embarrassment at the sight of her surprised blinking. Oh, he could not interact with people his age for the life of him.

"I-I mean," he corrected himself frantically, knowing he would surely damn himself for all eternity if he scared her off, "you could stay in here. Mr. Poligny usually comes in to check on me around this time."

His eyes glanced to the clock hanging on the wall. If they were any bit lucky, he would be by within the next hour.

"I guess it would be best to stay put if he is going to stop by soon."

Another set of nerves shot through him as she crossed to a stool by the paint cabinet, smiling contently as she made herself comfortable. Now that she'd stepped out from the dark passageway, he had a better picture of her: long curls, blue eyes, button nose. She was shorter than him, as most people were, but considerably tiny.

It stunned him how comfortable she seemed now, glancing to her surroundings in curiosity. She must not be a theatre student, he thought, considering how she treated the space with such unfamiliarity.

"What's your name?" the question shot out of him almost desperately. He started bashing himself when her head swung back to him, but her gentle eyes were quick to soothe his inner turmoil.

"Christine," she said.

There was something about it then, he realized, how a simple exchange could mean so much more.

"And you?"

"Erik."

It felt odd saying his name. He convinced the school that he needed it left out of the yearbook and theatre programs due to "religious reasons" when, in reality, all he wanted was to be forgotten after high school. He could just disappear, and no one would question who the boy named Erik was and where he went to; no one would have to bear the burden of remembering him.

But now, sitting several feet away from him, was a reason to exist—someone who could look him in the eyes as people should look at one another, someone who genuinely seemed to care about an ordinary bit of information. He could exist, he thought. He could exist because of her.

"Erik," she repeated with a smile, and his heart staggered accordingly. "I like that. Are you new here?"

He swallowed. She must've seen right through him. It must've been obvious he was not like the other students. "No. I've been here for four years."

"Oh!" Her cheeks reddened as she laughed. "We're both seniors! I'm new here. Well, sort of new."

He cocked his head in interest. "Where are you from?"

"I was born here, but then my mother..." she paused as if questioning her response, lowering her voice, "my mother passed, and my dad decided to pick up the lifestyle of a traveling musician, so I've been on the road for ten years."

She had ducked her eyes in what Erik recognized as an act of avoiding pity. He did it quite often himself when the school counselor or Mr. Poligny checked up on him and he had no good news to offer. When she finally met his eyes again, he welcomed them with a small smile, and she smiled as well.

"What does your father play?"

"Violin," she sighed, her eyes raising to the ceiling dreamily. "He treats that instrument like a second child. Sometimes I miss hearing him play every night."

Her eyes had dropped back to the hands in her lap, and Erik stood there watching her twiddle her fingers. He would've been embarrassed by the fact that he ran out of things to talk about if the silence hadn't been so comfortable. It seemed like a day for many firsts—a first for the pile of two-by-fours, a first for having actual interactions with another student, and a first for comfortable silence between him and another person.

"Are you going to the party this Saturday?"

"Party?" The fact that she could even consider some weird kid in a ski mask as a potential guest on a list for such an event was oddly commendable and laughable all at once.

"Yeah, the De Chagny's are throwing a party to celebrate the new school year. Seniors only."

He turned quickly to regard the pile in the corner once again so he could spare her the scowl that was forming on his face.

She still caught the edginess in his frame. "Did I say something wrong?"

Christine's eyes read of nothing more than desperation when he turned back, pulling a two-by-four from the top of the stack. "No. It's just the De Chagny's."

"What about them?"

He tossed the two-by-four into its designated pile. "They act like they own this town. Everyone seems bought-out by them."

"I think they're nice."

The bashful defensiveness in her tone told him it was best not to argue, and he didn't want to anyways. Not if it meant upsetting her.

"You should still come, though. It'll be fun."

"If your idea of 'fun' is getting wasted," Erik added, controlling his voice so that his comment didn't come across as harsh.

She chuckled. "That's just even more of a reason for you to come: so I won't be the only sober one there."

There was something in her eyes, he realized, that made it hard for him to look away. For once in his life, he had the opportunity to join the land of the living, and still, there was that sharp voice hissing in the back of his mind, begging him not to.

"Where will this party be?"

* * *

**Endless Love - Diana Ross and Lionel Richie**


	3. Kiss from a Rose

Christine found Erik standing in her kitchen when she woke in the morning, one hand resting on the open door of a cabinet as he stared at the dishware before him.

"Looking for something?"

Erik didn't so much as flinch when she spoke in spite of her quiet entry, turning to regard her with weary eyes and a thin smile. "You changed where you hid your coffee, but not where you hid your coffee mugs."

She laughed and padded over to the cabinet by her fridge, pulling the door open to point up at a can of Folger's on the top shelf. Erik chuckled as he shut the cabinet he'd been looking through and walked over to her, pulling the can from its shelf.

"Rather odd that you'd hide your coffee where you can't reach it," he snickered.

Christine narrowed her eyes as he crossed to the coffee maker. "I don't drink coffee. My father put it there."

"Well, I guess it's good I'm here now." He shot a smile at her as he turned to retrieve a tablespoon from the drawer of utensils. "Now you won't have to climb the counters to get things."

She rolled her eyes and moved to open the cabinet beside him, pulling a ceramic bowl from the bottom shelf before rounding him to make way to the pantry. He watched her as she made a bowl of Cookie Crisp, ignoring his judgemental gaze until she started out of the kitchen.

"If you decide you want anything to eat, there's food in the fridge."

Erik chuckled, and his eyes fell back on the trickling coffee.

By the time he reunited with Christine, she'd already finished her bowl of cereal and bundled herself in a blanket on the screened back porch, her eyes closed.

"You should head back to bed, Christine."

Her eyes lifted slowly to his, a melancholic glimmer in the background behind her pupils. "I'm just resting my eyes."

Erik looked behind him and scanned the bare backyard: leaf-less trees, dry, frosted grass, not a bird chirping nor a squirrel scurrying. He would've understood why she came outside in the morning if it were summertime, but it was not.

"How long have you been doing this? Coming out here when it's so cold?"

She blinked back out towards the yard. "Three days."

Erik set his coffee on the table before the couch and joined her side. "What are you thinking about?"

Christine shrugged solemnly and kept her eyes glued on the yard.

"I know it's hard, but saying absolutely nothing isn't going to help."

She remained silent, and he decided to give up for the moment.

A minute passed before Christine tossed a side of her blanket over Erik's lap and moved so that she could lean against his side. He couldn't help the tight sensation that spread across his chest as she ran her hand across his stomach, and almost gasped when she curled her fingers around his side. He held his breath when she sighed and dug her cheek further into him.

"You smell bad."

Laughter spiraled out of him, and she couldn't help but laugh too. "I'm sorry my host wasn't so kind as to show me the shower."

She shot her eyes up at him. "Oh, so it's my fault that my guest cannot take care of himself?"

His eyes narrowed, mimicking hers. She moved closer and pursed her lips, her eyes shifting between each of his as if searching for something. He noticed the sudden change in his breath's pace—how it slowed to make up for the rapid beating of his heart.

"And your breath smells too."

"No worse than yours, I'm sure," he teased.

Her eyes narrowed further in saying '_touche_,' and she moved away from him, standing from the couch all too soon. "Let me show you to the shower, then."

Christine pulled a towel for him from her closet and led him to the bathroom.

"You'll have to forgive the mess."

There was nothing wrong with her bathroom except the concrete board flooring and the short stack of tile sitting by the sink.

"My father planned to make up my bathroom this past weekend." Her voice faded into a whisper. "He didn't get around to it."

"I could do it for you." Her mouth opened to argue, her eyes pleading. "I insist. You deserve to relax, Christine. Allow me to check something off your to-do list."

She dropped his towel on the rim of the sink and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you're here."

He slowly wrapped his arms around her, returning some of her hug before she pulled away. "Leave these clothes out in the hallway so I can clean them and whatever else you need washed."

Erik made a quick stop to his room—a room he knew was hers. He tried convincing her he was well off sleeping on the couch, but she was very much persistent in giving him her bed instead. It was much different from what he remembered—no more pink walls or magazine rip-outs of her favorite music artists. Everyone from A-ha to Duran Duran had been replaced by photographs of her, her friends, and her parents.

Feeling pity for her was something he found he could not fight. All these memories on her walls, not a single photo of her recently; he didn't understand how she could bear it.

His afternoon was spent cutting tile and placing it on the floor over top of thinset, occasionally talking to Christine when she passed down the hall with a laundry basket. He began regretting taking a shower before working as he headed for the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water, all of his clothes covered in a thick layer of dust from cutting the tile in the garage.

Christine stood at the counter closest to the stove, chopping a head of lettuce when he entered.

"Excuse me."

Christine almost jumped, not hearing him until he was directly behind her, then leaning over her to open the cabinet. Her worked seized as she watched his hand reach for a glass, feeling the weight of his chest over her back, his arm hovering over her shoulder.

"What are you making?" His voice came from overhead, but it seemed as if his mouth were right by her ear.

Her mind snapped back to reality as he shut the cabinet door with a thud, and she looked down at her work. "Sandwiches."

"Lettuce sandwiches?"

She twisted to shoot him a piercing glare, only to meet sharp eyes behind a mask turned white by tile dust. She burst into laughter and set her knife against the cutting board.

"I make a point to wash your clothes, and still you can't refrain from dirtying them!" She closed the gap between them and lifted her hands toward his face. "You've got to take this-"

His empty hand clasped around her wrist, stopping her as her fingers found the edge of his mask around his neck.

"Erik-"

"Please, Christine."

There was nothing left in those eyes of his—those wonderful, mismatched eyes—all except for fear.

"It doesn't matter to me," she argued. She didn't want him to care—didn't want him to think she cared.

His thumb ran over the side of her wrists, the rest of his fingers not moving as his eyes dropped to her mouth. "But it does to me."

She noticed the sudden change in his breathing—the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She was hurting him, she knew, but she didn't want to give up, not now.

"Please, Christine." His voice was nothing more than a breathless whisper, a plea losing hope.

She dropped her eyes to the floor and turned, slipping away from him before he could notice the first tear fall. She resumed her cutting as he poured himself a glass of water, only stopping to wipe away the streaks after she felt his presence leave the room.

Christine spent her lunch alone in her father's room, leaving Erik's sandwich on the counter.

* * *

Christine managed to avoid Erik for the rest of the afternoon, yet his presence still lingered with the sounds that floated out and about her house from her bathroom.

She decided to skip dinner for the night; her sandwich felt heavy in her stomach from lunch. Still, she didn't miss what was becoming her nightly routine: sitting in front of the television with a gallon-sized bucket of ice cream. Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it provided her some comfort before passing out.

"Christine."

Her eyes lifted from her flipping of channels to the figure in the doorway. Erik stood there in his cleaned pajamas holding a gift-wrapped box. He approached her cautiously, extending the box to her. It took her a moment to register that the object was for her, and set her TV remote to the side to take it from his hands.

He took his seat beside the tub of ice cream, allowing it to fix the space between them as he watched her tear the wrapping paper.

Her mouth quirked into a smile at the sight of what he'd gifted her. "A lava lamp?"

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, but I knew you didn't have a lamp in your room."

She hadn't noticed when the noise from the bathroom stopped and didn't even hear when he left either. She was so caught up in her self-pity to realize it.

"You didn't have to get me anything."

He shrugged. "I wanted to."

Her smile drifted toward the family pictured on the box, 'Fun for the whole family!' written underneath the image.

"I'm sorry about earlier." Her smile faded, and she found his eyes once more, long and earnest. "I shouldn't have made you cry."

It was her turn to shrug nonchalantly. "It's fine."

"No, it's not."

She was almost stunned by his sincerity.

"You've been through hell this past week. I shouldn't have been so rash."

"It was wrong for me to try and force you to do something you were uncomfortable with."

"Oh, Christine."

She found it rather odd that she still wasn't used to him saying her name that way—as if it were the only thing that existed in the world.

"You only wanted to make me feel comfortable. I cannot be mad at you for that."

She fell silent at the pain in his voice. "Has it gotten worse?"

He released a short, breathy laugh that made her heart pinch and shook his head. "It does not change, but that does not matter, it's still horrendous."

Her hopes died altogether, knowing he would not willingly grant her permission to see his face again. It was an awful sight—this she could admit—but what was even worse was knowing she could look at him like another normal being if he just gave her a chance, yet he did not.

"You should head to bed, Christine. You look exhausted."

"I am," she sighed. "But not the exhausted that can be fixed by sleep."

She avoided his pitying eyes, knowing very well the look he was giving her would only push her to cry again.

"At least take your bed for the night. I can sleep here."

"No, I'm comfortable in my father's bed."

"I don't see how."

It hurt—everything hurt. Eight years later and she was ecstatic to see a friend she thought she'd never lay eyes upon again. This boy she had known seemed to understand her better than anyone else did. He didn't want to talk about what some celebrity had said in a magazine; he wanted to speak about things that mattered. Yet, now, they knew as much about each other as a scorpion in the desert knows about a shark in the ocean.

"I'm still learning to cope."

He eyed the tub of ice cream between them. "I can see."

She pulled a spoon from her pant pocket, one that she'd non-admittedly been saving in the case that he did decide to join her for the evening, and extended it to him.

With one small huff of a laugh, he accepted.

* * *

**Kiss from a Rose - Seal**


	4. Emotion In Motion

**September 1985**

* * *

The weekend just couldn't come quick enough for Christine Daae. After ten years of being on the road, all she wanted to do was catch up with her childhood friends.

She barely slept the night before her first day of school. What if they didn't remember her? What if they changed entirely? What if they hadn't liked her at all? All that vanished as she was practically tackled in first period by her friend Meg.

She'd been the one Christine was most nervous to see again. They had spent so much time together in and out of school. Ballet, children's choir, church—they might as well have been sisters.

"You have to tell me everything!" Meg exclaimed as they scoped out the drinks. "Where did you travel? Did you meet any cute boys?"

Christine laughed as she reached for a plastic cup. "Well, let's see..."

Meg's eyes widened with a thirst for Christine's stories, although Christine felt she had very little to share. She'd been many places, and there were a few funny stories to tell about the people her dad performed with, but she never cared too much for the road. Her home had always been here in this little town of Independence, and she was much more interested to hear what she had missed than recount the last decade of her life.

"Christine! You made it!"

Another childhood friend approached her now, one her mother constantly teased her for, asking: "How was your boyfriend today?" every time she hopped off the bus and caught a glimpse of the boy in a window.

He still had that adorable, lively face she remembered, and for once he made it past 4'6.

"Raoul!"

She missed his hugs, she realized. His warm, inviting arms enraptured her with memories of the playground and recesses spent playing tag and house.

"How have you been?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "Busy."

She missed his laugh too. "Busy for ten years, huh?"

She was the one to laugh now. "You could say that."

Catching up with her friends seemed like nothing more than an exchange of recent events and gossip.

It felt good for once knowing she belonged somewhere. Being on the road only made Christine an empty vessel, ready to be whatever anyone wanted her to be. Making friends was simple: observe, imitate, observe again. People liked other people just like them, and Christine had become quite an expert at being anyone she was not.

But here, surrounded by her true friends, she didn't have to be someone else. She was Christine Daae, a seventeen-year-old girl who daydreamed maybe a little too much and loved singing to her favorite songs alone in her room. She could be herself, and no one would bat an eye.

"I've got drinks!" Raoul's older brother Philippe entered the living room an hour into the party, both of his hands raised over his head, carrying two twelve-packs of beer.

The entire crowd of high schoolers seemed to erupt into applause, and her friends rushed from the center of the room to the kitchen as Philippe unloaded.

Christine wasn't sure what exactly made her turn around, perhaps it was that strange phenomenon of feeling like someone was watching her, but she turned to look out the window towards the backyard, seeing her reflection first, then a boy in a ski mask.

Erik.

Her face lit with excitement, but before she could wave him in he ducked his head and turned the other way. A wave of panic washed through her, and she shot towards the back door, going unnoticed as she left the party.

Erik still stood there in the backyard, his back turned against the house. When he heard the squeak of the door and the clatter of voices filter out with it, he turned. Christine shut the door behind her, shoving the voices back in, and approached for a moment before stopping short on the edge of the deck.

A cool breeze blew, and she shivered, instantly regretting wearing the lily white dress she purchased over the summer as she wrapped her arms around herself to shield the rest of her body. He stood unaffected, his black jean jacket protecting him from the fall air's slaughter.

She managed a smile even as the breeze carried on. "Aren't you going to come inside?"

"I..." he looked beyond her, in the direction of their peers cracking open beer bottles and cans. "I'd rather not."

"But you came." Christine almost winced at how winy she sounded.

She understood what it was like to feel out of place. For once, she could provide someone with that sense of security—having someone there to guide and relieve most of the social pressure. He wouldn't have to be alone.

"I only came for you."

Christine wasn't quite sure what to make of his confession. She'd already suspected that he had no friends when she first met him; it was evident in the way he carried himself. Ten years on the road, continually jumping from place to place, had taught her how to survive, even if it meant not being who she truly was.

She turned back towards the house. Her group of friends were all laughing and enjoying themselves, unaware of the fact she'd left them. When she turned back around, his eyes had dropped to his shoes.

She knew the exact fear he was feeling: that she would leave to be with her friends, and he'd be alone again. She remembered feeling that on one particular instance when she was twelve. Oh, the tears she cried later that night in her dad's trailer. She thought the night would never end.

"I'll be right back."

Erik moved out from the grass and closer towards the house as Christine ran back inside. He watched her work around the crowd, push her way to the drink cooler and the snack counter, and disappear once more until she made her way back to the door with a renewed smile and an armful of goodies.

"I've acquired drinks and snacks," she announced, closing the door behind her. "And also a blanket!"

She took a seat on the porch swing, and he followed.

"I hope you like Coke."

He chuckled as she handed him an open bottle with a bendy straw shoved in the opening. "Thank you."

Christine set her bottle and a container of Cheez Balls to the side before she straightened a blanket over their laps. "I could only find one blanket, so we'll have to share."

"I don't need any blanket."

Christine shot a pained look in Erik's direction. "You dare mock the sacred rules of sharing a swing outside a party?"

"There are rules for such a thing?" Erik laughed incredulously.

"Of course there are! First, you must share a blanket with whoever is next to you, then you have to drink from the finest of beverages, and lastly—" she bent to retrieve her drink and container of Cheez Balls, "you must share a snack with the person next to you as well."

Erik found himself caught in a web of laughter. "Please tell me you did not steal the only container of Cheez Balls at this party."

"I did."

Erik was practically in tears. "Might I say, you are a nightmare for party hosts."

"Ah," Christine swiped his comment away with a flick of her hand, "they won't be missing anything once they've got enough booze in them."

Everything fell silent as she cracked open the Cheez Balls, tossing the lid to the ground before them. She wasn't as hungry as she thought she would be, but still, she reached in and pulled out three little puffs before tossing them into her mouth individually. Erik eyed the can with indifference even as Christine shoved it his way. He hesitated for a moment and gave in, satisfying her by pulling a single cheese ball and placing it in his mouth.

"It must be odd seeing your friends this way after so many years." Erik tried his best to make his words not seem so solemn as he swallowed his cheese ball.

Christine shook her head. "It's just what teenagers do. When I was in Colorado, this group of girls I had been hanging out with were all drinking and smoking. Not a parent in sight. You know how old they all were?"

"How old?" Erik asked, curiously.

"Thirteen and fourteen. I was fourteen at the time. Even then, I refrained from joining in." She shoved one more cheese ball in her mouth and placed the can between them. "Do you think I'm a goody-two-shoes?"

Erik shook his head. "No. What you drink should be of personal choice, not social pressures. Why do you ask?"

Christine sighed and fiddle with her bendy straw, twisting it in a spiral. "The girls got mad at me for not joining and never stopped teasing me afterward. Luckily, I was out of that town in another two weeks."

Erik hummed in response.

It occurred to Christine that he wasn't much of a talker, as she had been before. Socializing was exhausting, and coming up with topics to speak about made it harder, but she still pressed on.

"Why don't you drink?"

Erik sighed. "My mother said my father was an alcoholic. I've determined I'm susceptible to becoming one as well, so pushing away from the bottle is probably my best bet."

Christine lowered her voice as if not to provoke him. "Was he abusive?"

Erik sighed and stirred his straw. "I'm not quite sure. He left after I was born."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It was probably for the best."

Christine allowed the muffled sounds of loud music and voices to fill in the gap where their conversation let off. Perhaps her social skills were not sharp enough for two outsiders, she realized. Or maybe she didn't have to fit in with him. Maybe the silence was all they needed.

"What's it like to be pretty?"

His question was abrupt—another tick she had struggled with when she was desperate to continue a conversation—but it wasn't a kind of abrupt that insinuated prickly awkwardness. Rather, it flooded her with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time, and she was thankful for the shadow that was cast on her face as she turned to him.

There was panic in his eyes as if he'd suddenly regretted his words, and she was sure what little he could make of her features was no bit helpful.

"Me?" Her voice was not her own. The Christine she had developed was not shy; she could handle this.

He appeared to swallow behind his mask, a little bob of his throat peaking beneath the fabric. "There's no one else out here that I could be speaking to."

Her eyes shot back to the mouth of her Coke bottle, and she realized she hadn't even taken the tiniest sip. Again, the unrecognizable voice came through her: "I'm not that pretty."

"Oh, don't play stupid now."

It was hard not to look at him. Had she ever seen someone look at her that way before? She couldn't recall having ever met someone with so much emotion in their eyes, a thousand unspoken words in blue and hazel.

"I still can't understand why you actively chose to be out here with me than in there with all your friends."

"They've got each other." She shot a glance in the direction of the window. Her friends were somewhere in there, laughing and dancing with everyone else. Whether she was there or not didn't matter; it hadn't matter in the past ten years, anyway. "And you needed a friend."

Erik nodded understandingly. "Pity."

Christine shook her head. "No. More like sympathy."

Erik's eyes dropped to the space between them and silence ensued once more.

"I don't understand why you haven't asked about it—my face."

"I thought it should be personal," Christine picked her words carefully.

"That never mattered much to people before."

Christine wasn't quite sure what to make of his words. Had he assumed she was just like everyone else, that she was more concerned with physical matters than getting to know him first?

"It was a birth defect. The doctor didn't have a name for it. They ran several tests, and it turned out I was fine, just my face hadn't developed like other babies."

Christine remained silent, unsure how he wanted her to respond.

"I just thought you would like to know. You're too polite to ask."

Christine pressed her lips to his cheek hard enough so that he might feel it through the fabric. When she pulled back, his eyes colored with surprise. She offered him a small smile and reached to move the can of Cheez Balls to the ground.

He didn't complain when she pulled herself closer and leaned against him, pulling the blanket over her shoulders.

"Thank you for spending the evening with me," Christine spoke after an extended period of silence, "and for sharing things with me that can't be easy to share."

She felt him sigh. "That is was friends do, right?"

She shifted her head so that her nose pointed towards him and smiled. "Right."

* * *

**Emotion In Motion - Ric Ocasek**


	5. Holding on to You

Christine woke to the dull blue glow of a lava lamp, her curtains drawn so that no daylight peeked through the window.

She tried recalling what little she remembered from the night before, but between the tears and laughter, she couldn't quite recount their conversation. Words blended with others until they fell to silence. Erik eventually returned the half-empty gallon of ice cream to the freezer when Christine began dozing off.

She remembered him setting her in her bed, tucking her in, pulling the lava lamp from its box and assembling it before plugging it into the wall. Fatigue forced her to close her eyes as he switched it on. Turning, his hand slipped her hair behind her ear, and his face dipped so close that his features were merely shadows. He whispered her a wish for sweet dreams and headed back out into the hallway.

It occurred to her that she meant to give him a heads-up about Meg's visit, but between all the nostalgia and making up, the thought disappeared from her mind.

Christine shuffled out of bed and into the kitchen, not surprised to find Erik slumped over the coffee maker. The visible lines of his face, weary beneath his mask, came to life in a mere instant, just enough to offer her a small smile. She smiled back, nearly forgetting why she hadn't lingered a few moments longer in bed.

"Meg's coming today."

His smile collapsed slightly. Maybe "good morning" would have been a better greeting.

"I meant to tell you last night. I just—"

"It's fine." His smile relaxed, and his eyes grew weary again. "I half-expected her to be here before me."

Christine slipped into her pantry. "Well, you beat her to it."

Erik chuckled as he poured coffee into his mug. "I guess we're kind of having our high school reunion, eh?"

Christine practically slammed the pantry door, her eyes widening. "I completely forgot!"

Erik's brows raised in concern.

"Our high school reunion! It's in two months!"

His face sagged with disinterest.

"You should come! I'll be there and Meg will too. It'll be fun!"

Erik unplugged the coffee maker. "I don't think 'fun' and 'high school' correlate with one another."

Christine rolled her eyes. "You just don't want to give it a chance."

"Why should I? No one there ever gave me a chance," he snipped.

Christine froze in surprise. She was walking on thin ice, and Erik was visibly upset by her even bringing it up.

He gave himself a moment, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, especially not since you had given me a chance."

Christine set down her box of cereal and crossed to him, pulling him into an embrace. It seemed like an odd turn of events, how he had come for her but now she was the one there for him. Maybe the universe had intended for them to reconnect like this. Maybe they needed each other for healing.

Christine spent some time listening to his heartbeat slow and waited for his body to relax before she tilted her head up toward him.

She had seen that look before when she snuck backstage during rehearsals to see what he was up to in the workshop; when she made the effort to join him for lunch, and on prom night when she ran into him unexpectedly. It was the look that made her skin stipple and her spine tingle with some unknown excitement, her heart curl with a longing for some mysterious gap to be filled in her life.

His eyes ran down to his finger as he curled a lock of her hair around it. She shivered, and he released the lock with a start.

"Sorry."

She shook her head and smiled. "You're fine."

His hand was slowly slipping back into her hair, his mouth opening to speak again when the sound of her doorbell cut in.

Her eyes flickered to his with reluctance before she slipped away. Erik followed, keeping some distance.

Christine had barely opened the door when Meg busted in, capturing her in a hug.

"It is so good to see you."

Christine laughed and embraced her friend. "Good to see you too, Meg."

Meg squeezed lightly before backing away, freezing at the sight of Erik standing rigid in the doorway behind them, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He managed a small, friendly smile, still entirely unsure of himself.

"I meant to tell you," Christine began, laughing awkwardly, "but I got so caught up in trying to clean house that the thought just slipped from my mind."

Meg smiled in Erik's direction. "Hi."

"Hey," he replied, relaxing slightly.

Meg turned to grab her bags off the front step, prompting Erik and Christine to step forward and help her. "Sorry," she apologized, laughing. "I know it's a lot for three days, but I thought it might be fun to relive our childhood memories of giving each other makeovers."

Christine smiled. "Sounds like you've already got more planned for the weekend than I do."

* * *

"So what, he just showed up to your front door after your father passed away and you let him in?"

Meg had been pushing the grocery cart as Christine searched for the items on her list, silently praying the topic of Erik wouldn't be brought up. She felt the tension in her home and on the car ride to the grocery store—confrontation on the horizon. It wouldn't be long before Meg said anything, but maybe now, without Erik present, was best.

"He heard about my father's death and came to the funeral."

"What's he doing at your house then?"

Christine tried to suppress her weighted sigh. "He didn't have another place to stay."

Meg rolled her eyes incredulously. "So he couldn't find a room at the Hampton Inn. Did he tell you when he'd be checking out of Hotel Daae?"

"Is he upsetting you that much?"

"Has the thought not crossed your mind yet, Christine? He's taking advantage of you!"

Christine crossed her arms and diverted her attention from the shelves. She expected Meg to be upset that they didn't have the entire weekend to themselves. "Finally!" Meg exclaimed over the phone. "A weekend away from all these _men._"

Christine laughed at the time. Her friend surely did deserve a break after taking care of her husband and child for so long, as well as dealing with all that she went through at work. But this was Erik they were talking about. She knew he had no intention to spoil their plans.

"How exactly is he taking advantage of me?" Christine inquired.

Meg was baffled by her friend's blindness. "He showed up unannounced, knowing you were vulnerable and unlikely to turn him down, guilted you into letting him stay at your place, and I'm presuming hasn't even given you a date of departure."

"He's a friend and he showed up to support me."

Meg cocked her head, eyes narrowing in astonishment. "Last time I saw him, he kidnapped you from the prom!"

An older lady passing by with her cart glanced down the aisle, flashing them a look of concern. Meg spoke again once the lady had passed, lowering her voice.

"It just doesn't make sense why you'd let him back in."

Christine returned her attention to her list. "You just don't know him as I do. Trust me, if you knew, you'd let him stay."

"It's been so long. How do you know he hasn't changed, that he isn't just some squatter?"

"He hasn't," Christine promised. "He wouldn't take advantage of me like that."

* * *

Dinner was the closest thing Christine had to a genuine, picturesque holiday meal in a long while. A roast chicken, piles of mashed potatoes, a colorful mix of vegetables. She was the last to sit at the table, pouring everyone a much-needed glass of chardonnay.

"Thank you both for being here," she said as she sat down. "It's been so long since I've had company around. It's great to have friends that can be here to support me." Her smile was small but genuine.

Meg and Erik smiled back, and slowly started at their food.

It wasn't exactly how Christine hoped the evening would start off. Awkward silence being filled by nothing more than the clinking of forks against plates, the pungent stench of friction still in the air.

"Erik put in the tile for my bathroom floor." Christine almost frightened herself with her own desperation for conversation. Erik surely wasn't going to say much unless Meg did, so the best she could do was attempt to provoke Meg and pray Erik would follow.

"I saw. It looks nice."

Christine smiled. She was getting somewhere. "I'm honestly glad he was here to do it. I hated that Dad always wanted to do things on his own, especially with his back being so bad."

"Wasn't he planning on replacing the carpet in your room too?"

Christine laughed. "Yeah, I tried telling him all these renovations were unnecessary, but he was determined to get this house fixed up."

"Sounds like he wanted better for you," Erik chimed in finally.

Christine sighed and nodded, her eyes falling to her plate. "He always did."

The awkward silence resumed, forks clinking more frequently all except for Christine's. She had no incentive to try and continue the conversation, the room suddenly feeling all too stuffy for her to slip a word out without choking on it first.

Without warning, she stood from the table, setting her utensils on her plate as she muttered something about needing to use the restroom. She dashed out into the hall, beelining for her father's room.

Meg was the first to stand from the table, shooting Erik a sideways glance before running out after Christine.

Christine slammed the door shut behind her and threw herself at the bed. Boxes upon boxes of her father's stuff stacked high in the corners of the room, yet somehow it felt easier to breathe in here than at the table.

She had only just begun catching her breath when the door busted in, a concerned Meg entering with Erik not too far behind. They both froze in shock at the sight of the room.

Christine stood in alarm. "I didn't want you guys to see this."

"Christine," Meg gasped, walking in further.

"I've been working hard to get everything organized so that I can get rid of it." She looked around to a pile she had started, most of the belongings old pictures that needed to be sent off to her extended family. "There's just so much and sometimes it's hard to part."

Meg had Christine in her arms before the next tear could fall. "It's alright," she murmured as she stroked her hair. "You could have just told us, Christine. We're here so that you don't have to go through this alone."

"I didn't want either of you to worry about this," Christine sobbed.

"Do you think we'd really want you to take care of this all by yourself? After everything you've already been through?" Erik joined.

Meg backed up and held Christine's face between each of her hands. "We care about you, Christine. Let us help."

Christine swallowed slowly and nodded her head. Meg pulled her in for a hug, sighing contently.

Despite all the excitement of the night, Christine found she couldn't fall asleep when she got to bed. She ruined the night for her friends, spoiled their meal and forced dinner to end prematurely.

Erik decided to take her father's room for the night, insisting she take up her own bed. She already hated the idea that one of her friends was going to end up on the couch, but it was probably best she stayed out of her father's room as much as possible.

Her mind wouldn't stop replaying the entire day back to her. Erik's hand in her hair, the glint in his eyes; her confrontation with Meg at the grocery store; her breakdown at the dinner table—it all made her ache and she couldn't stop from doubling over in bed, sobbing into her sheets.

Her bedroom door opened as her throat caught, and she froze, silently and shakily releasing her breath. If she pretended she was sleeping, whoever it was would go away, she decided. Instead, the door closed and the person entered, crossing the room to her bedside where her back was turned.

It was not Meg, she decided, because Meg would've called out to her by now.

Erik gently moved beneath the covers behind her, leaving enough space between their bodies so that if she were sleeping she would not be able to feel him. But she could.

"I'm sorry for what I said."

Christine realized it was no use. He knew. She flipped over to face him, the blue glow of her lava lamp providing some assistance to her eyes. Her brows knitted together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I made you cry."

Christine shook her head. "No, you didn't."

"You started crying after what I said."

"It wasn't because of that."

"What was it then?"

It seemed she acted on nothing more than impulse now. First it was with Erik, letting him in just because she needed someone there; then it was with his mask, wanting desperately for him to know she didn't care, that she actually wanted to be back where they were several years before her life had collapsed; then it was at dinner, trying to hide the reality of her loss, not wanting her friends to pity her just because she wasn't capable of holding in her tears anymore; and now it was here, reaching out and clinging to Erik with an unexplainable need, crying into the soft fabric of his shirt that smelled like home.

His hand ran up her back, stopping to rub soothing circles between her shoulder blades. "It's okay, it's okay," he cooed.

The tears ceased as her mind became preoccupied with picking off balls of lint from his shirt, her breathing calming with every circle of his fingers.

"Why'd you really come here?" The question had been on her mind ever since her conversation with Meg. She wouldn't have admitted it, couldn't even fathom the idea of him taking advantage of her, but she still couldn't help but wonder why he would stay.

The hand at her back froze, and her head cocked up. His eyes shifted between each of hers, his breathing more calculated. Again, there was that look.

"There are a lot of things I haven't told you yet."

Her heart stammered.

"I'm not quite sure if I would be capable of telling you everything right now, but I'm sure you already know the main reason."

Christine frowned. He was still beating around the bush. "You're homeless."

Erik's eyes widened. "Wha— no. I—" his voice caught and he had to cough to clear it. "I do have a home, it's just—"

"You don't have to lie anymore."

Erik shifted, stunned by her accusation. "I'm not lying, Christine. I—" he released a frustrated huff. "I'm here because I never got over you."

Her brows bunched together, eyes narrowing in confusion.

He laughed at himself pathetically, averting his eyes to the wall. "Not a day has gone by where I haven't thought of you. After prom, I thought I would be over it within a few years, especially now since I expected you to be married with kids."

Christine had to stifle a laugh. A few years ago she thought the same thing too, but her life up to this point has been nothing but stagnant relationships.

"I don't know how long I will be staying. By Meg's look earlier this evening I already know she's not too happy with me being here, so I've probably outlived my expiration."

Christine's hand bunched at his shirt. "Please don't leave."

His breathing deepened as his eyes found hers again. "I won't."

Whether it was how he whispered his response or the fact his eyes wandered from hers, Christine couldn't help but feel like he wasn't telling the entire truth. It still didn't keep her from relaxing back against him, pressing her ear to his heart as he resumed in rubbing her back.

Christine didn't want to think about what came after the weekend. She didn't want to think about returning to work, her friends going back to their own routines as well. She didn't want to think about having to live in this house, in this town she once shared with her father.

She didn't want to think about having to be alone again.

* * *

**Holding on to You - Terence Trent D'arby**


End file.
